“Curious, I guess.”
“Honey, if I’d thought there was room for a woman in my life, there isn’t a chance in hell I would’ve left your virginity intact the night we met.”
I blush but smile anyway.
“What else do you want to know?”
“How much of my diary did you read?”
Chapter 9
Ace
I want to lie, but maybe that isn’t a good idea. I can toy with her, though, see just how much I can embarrass her. Embarrassment is a lot better than fear or nervousness, and I sense a little of both in her right now. She has to be scared, and since I don’t have any answers for her, distracting her might be good for her. And a whole lot of fun for me.
“Enough.” I give her my most charming grin.
“That wasn’t nice, you know.”
“I thought maybe you were dating a guy you hadn’t told your mom about or frequented BDSM clubs or something.”
She laughs, a soft, delightful sound that makes me chuckle too. “I wish I was even a little bit adventurous like that in the bedroom.”
“Believe me, it’s not my cup of tea either. Some friends of mine own a sex club in Vegas and the only time I visit is when I stop in to say hi.”
“I don’t get the impression you’re shy in the bedroom,” she murmurs.
“There’s a big difference between not being shy and BDSM. And no, I’m definitely not shy.” Our gazes meet and the chemistry that sparks must be too intense for her, because she looks away first.
“So really, how much did you read? Tell me the truth.”
“Enough to know there are no secret boyfriends or sex clubs.”
“Ace.” She dips her head. “Did you read what I wrote about you?”
Oh, shit.
“I… No.” I skimmed through the earlier dates and paid more attention to the recent entries, looking for someone or something in her life now that might be problematic. Mostly.
“Okay.” She seems to let out a breath.
“You wrote about me in your diary?” I can’t help myself.
She’s bright red and I hate it for her, because this isn’t fun banter or light teasing. She’s truly embarrassed because of me, and I never would do that on purpose.
“I was really angry when you didn’t come to Dad’s funeral,” she says after a moment. “It was the one thing that got me through the hours after he passed, knowing you would be there, knowing I’d be able to see you just one more time. And then you didn’t come. It was irrational, especially in light of what I know now, but what I wrote in the days that followed was filled with grief and pain and confusion. Especially since I was in the middle of a divorce as well.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
And I mean it.
It never occurred to me she still thinks about me, possibly as much as I think about her. “I would have been there if I could have been. I tried, I really did, but something was going on…and I couldn’t.”
“It’s okay.” She swallows. “I just, when I thought you’d read the whole thing I… Well, that’s not the only time I wrote about you.”
“Did you write about our kiss?” I ask curiously.
“I’m a silly romantic,” she admits, not looking at me. “I was a sheltered, naïve virgin when I met you and the only part of that that’s changed is that I’m not a virgin anymore. I’m still fairly sheltered and, after the disaster of my marriage, undoubtedly far too naïve for my own good. I’d like to think I’ve matured and changed, but I don’t know that anyone truly changes. We are who we are.” She finally looks at me, and the pain in her eyes is unmistakable.
